


A Shout and a Whisper

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (seriously: bring toothpaste; you'll need it), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bets & Wagers, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time Bottoming, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Gentle Sex, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, Love Epiphany, M/M, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Sexism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 10:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13856157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Theon loses a bet that means, for the first time, Jon gets to fuck him, rather than the other way around. He assumes Jon will treat him as roughly as he's always treated Jon.This proves incorrect.





	A Shout and a Whisper

**Author's Note:**

> The kink generator gave me kissing + nipple play. ^^

So this is his own damn fault.

Theon doesn't know how the situation arose, really. He and the bastard have been doing this, well, whatever it is they're doing for awhile now, and the whole time he thought Snow was perfectly content lying on his back and taking it; even if he was sometimes a bit pouty and sulky afterwards, when isn't Snow pouty and sulky? After all, the bastard is clearly the woman between the two of them, with his pretty curls and pink mouth, and he's smaller, both overall and where it counts. If anyone knew about this, which Theon is not planning on ever happening, he's pretty certain they'd rightly assume that Theon was the one giving it, like the fearsome ironborn warrior he is, and Snow was the one taking it, like a slut. As it should be, and how it has always been.  


Up 'til now.  


With a curse, he realises that the bastard is smarter than he gave him credit for. If he'd just asked, Theon would have said no, and he knows Snow would never push. So instead, he had to make it a contest. _If I win this bout, Greyjoy, I get to do whatever I want with you._ Theon shudders when he remembers the sound of Jon's voice, low and threatening. _I get to take you any way I wish._ He assumed he would win, because he always wins, forgetting that he's not a swordsman the way he is an archer, not so practice with a weapon that's so rough and ready, that Snow had an advantage over him there.  


(He refuses to indulge the suspicion that he might secretly have thrown that last parry, for a moment distracted by a weird curiosity.)  


It's not completely outside his capacity to admit that he's a little nervous, as he sneaks through the darkened corridors to the bastard's room. He's never exactly been gentle with Snow all the times he's fucked that pretty arse, and he's always gotten the impression the boy quite likes that – after all, why would he keep coming back otherwise? Still, it worries him that Snow might be planning to pay him back. _What, am I scared of him?_ he asks himself. _No. I'm ironborn, I can take it. And I'll pay him back twice as much next time._  


Besides, it turns out the Starks have had too much influence on him for him to just refuse to pay up after he lost a bet fair and square, so as he stands outside Snow's door he swallows hard, and grins, not wanting to give away any signs of his anxiety. He knocks.  


After a few seconds, Snow answers, dressed in a loose sleeping shirt. To Theon's irritation, he does not look the way he usually does when Theon comes to his rooms late at night: a mix of sullen and eager, and more than anything, sullen over how eager he is. Instead, Jon greets him with something that, for him, could pass for a smile. “Theon?”  


Theon squints at him suspiciously. _Since when does he call me my first name?_ Clearly, Snow means to mock him, to make this as humiliating as possible. Theon fumes. It's going to be a long night. Still, he gives nothing away. “Evening, Snow,” he says. “I heard you were needing some late night company?”  


Snow rolls his eyes, but he steps aside to let Theon in, closing the door behind them. Theon pauses as his eyes fall upon the bed in front of him. _It's just sex,_ he tells himself as his pulse starts racing. _How fucking different can it be?_  


“Do you want some wine?”  


“Huh?” Theon jumps, and then turns to look at Snow, and the pitcher on Snow's bedside table. He frowns suspiciously again. “Since when do you keep wine in your room?” he asks.  


Snow shrugs, pouting again. “I thought it might make you more comfortable,” he says, and Theon's annoyance grows. What, does the bastard think he's some mewling maid or something?  


“So you can get me drunk and have your way with me?” he drawls, and Snow just huffs in irritation. He sighs. “Well come on then. Let's get this over with.” He sits down on the edge of the bed and starts tugging at his clothes with sweaty fingers.  


The bastard watches him awhile as his fingers slip in the struggle with his laces, and then he scoffs. “Theon, you're just going to damage your clothes like that.” And before he knows it, Theon has the bastard standing in front of him, with a hand around his wrist, stopping him from going any further. Snow doesn't _look_ small, looming above him like that, and Theon shivers, just a little. Then something in Jon's eye softens. “You know, we don't have to do this. Not if you really don't want to.”  


“What, and let you mock me for being too craven to take your cock up my arse for the rest of my life?” he snorts, and Snow looks more irritated at that. “Come on, don't play the hero. I know you want to get your own back for all the times I've made you my bitch. So do it already, but don't expect me to–”  


He's interrupted by a pair of lips, pressed down gently but firmly over his own. _Er. What_? It takes Theon a few seconds to process what's happening, and, it's not as if they've never kissed before – but only when they were a lot further along than this, when Theon had his dick buried so deep in Jon's arse he couldn't even think about whether kissing him too would be crossing a line. They've never kissed like this, like lovers slowly building up to the main event. Their kisses have always been heavy, desperate, but this is soft, careful and undemanding; Jon barely even presses his tongue to Theon's lips, as if he's afraid of startling him. Instead, Theon immediately opens his mouth and yields. Jon kisses him like he would kiss a girl if he wanted her to believe he wanted nothing else from her.

They part, and Theon is left dizzy, while Jon really is smiling at him now. “Take off your clothes, Theon,” he whispers. “But slowly. I want to watch.”

Still lost, Theon reaches for the laces of his tunic on command, his hands almost trembling but when he moves slowly, the knot comes undone. He pushes the shirt up over his head, and gulps as he watches Jon's eye drift over his body, drinking in the sight of him shamelessly. “Like what you see, Snow?” Theon laughs, trying to embarrass him as usual, but it doesn't quite work.  


“Aye,” the bastard answers, not looking away from the contours of Theon's chest for a moment. He takes a step forward, pressing his thumb above Theon's sternum, like you would touch a woman between her breasts, running it in a line up and down and over his heart, and Theon's not sure if it's the cold air or the hot touch that turns his skin to gooseflesh.  


“What are you doing?” he asks, grumbling, and Jon raises an eyebrow again, faintly amused.  


“What I like,” the bastard answers, and Theon bites his lip. _But why?_ he wants to ask. “We did agree, if I won, I got to do whatever I wanted.” And that Theon can't argue with. But it doesn't answer his question. Jon sighs and splays his hand wide across Theon's chest, groping the muscle above his heart and finding the nipple with two fingers. Theon, whose nips were already hardening from the cold, moans as Snow finds them erect and sensitive.  


“I – fuck, Snow,” he moans softly, and throws his head back, letting Jon touch him more.  


“You're sensitive there,” says Jon as his other hand finds Theon's other nipple and rolls it between two fingers, making Theon let out a rather undignified yelp. “I have noticed.” And Theon moans some more, flushing with embarrassment, but unable to hide the way such a touch goes straight to his cock. “Now keep undressing.”  


Theon pauses. Fuck, he forgot about that. It's tricky, with Snow looming above him and his arms in the way, to reach his own breeches and take them off. But he can't bring himself to tell Jon to stop. The laces aren't so tricky, he simply has to pull at the knot and it comes undone (years of practice, after all). However he can't really stand, so he has to do a very awkward shuffle so the breeches and his underthings fall to the floor. It doesn't quite match Jon's instruction he do it slowly, but well, that's hardly his fault.  


Once he's undressed, Jon steps back, making Theon whine a little in protest. The bastard looks over him once more, making Theon feel like a feast ready to be eaten. “You're beautiful,” he murmurs, and Theon, damn it, blushes like a maid.  


“Shut up, Snow,” he answers, sullen enough to give the bastard a run for his money, not wanting to be mocked (and perhaps, a little afraid of the thought Jon might not be mocking him after all). At that, Snow simply rolls his eyes once more, and before he knows it Theon has the boy in his lap, mouth claiming his own once more, fiercer this time, and he moans as Jon's hand grasping his neck.  


Most nights, Theon would know where to go from here; he would get Snow's clothes off and pull him down onto his prick, have him riding in his lap and clinging to his shoulders for balance. But Theon knows the whining that would ensue if he tried that tonight, if he broke his word. As he explores Theon's mouth with his tongue, Jon leans further against him, and Theon groans, falling back onto the bed with a thud, panting slightly as Jon breaks away.  


Before he can say anything though, Jon has moved once more, kissing now beneath Theon's jawline and Theon squirms as the boy's dark curls tickle his skin. _He'll leave a mark,_ he thinks as Jon's lips suck behind his ear, and then he remembers all the times he's left his marks on Jon, and smirked all day as Jon had to blush and pretend they were just bruises and scrapes from training. Alright, perhaps this is fair.  


Jon's fingers find one of his nipples again, circling it gently and making Theon gasp, squirm, trying to get the bastard to touch them properly. “Stay still,” Jon tells him, grasping Theon's wrist with his free hand, and pinning it to the bed. That makes Theon gasp even louder. Jon pulls up a second, staring into Theon's eyes, his pupils wide with lust. Theon bites his lip and nods. _Fuck, what have I gotten myself into?_ Jon smiles at him again, and his other hand takes hold of Theon's other wrist too. Theon whimpers pathetically, his nipples pink and stinging, before Jon leans down and takes one in his mouth instead.  


“Oh!” he calls out as Jon suckles at his teat, calloused fingers gently caressing Theon's wrists, and Theon blushes at the position he's in. _What, does the bastard think I'm a woman?_ But he really doesn't want Jon to stop; as he grazes across Theon's nipple with his teeth Theon mewls, and bucks off the bed, pushing his pulsing cock up against Jon's thigh. “Ah, ah, Jon, please.”

He's not really sure what he means by that, but Jon takes it as cue to move to the side and start worshipping Theon's other nipple with his mouth, teeth biting harder, more recklessly, and Theon groans and arches his back, hands trembling against the furs. “Fuck,” he whispers, and Jon, seemingly trusting him to stay still now, lets go of one of his wrists to sneak a hand between his legs, loosely circling his aching prick, and that makes Theon gasp and moan again.

“You are beautiful, you know,” Jon mutters, and Theon can see him blushing faintly in the candlelight. _Shit_. “I know you think I'm making fun, but I'm not. I'd have said it before if I didn't think you'd be an utter prick about it.” Theon's head is spinning, and he moans as Jon starts to stroke the length of him properly. “Even this. Fuck, I love your cock Theon. I might have mentioned that if you didn't gloat about it so much. You don't have to; you've got nothing to prove.”  


“Jon–” he whines, not sure where his mind is going, but then Jon kisses his chest once more, the one hand wrapping tighter around Theon's wrist as Jon slowly traces his mouth over Theon's belly, kissing him all over, making him moan even before Jon settles between his leg and softly traces the length of his cock with his tongue.  


Theon cries out and arches his back again. Alright, this should not be such a shock; it's not as if Snow's never sucked his cock before – but he's done it because Theon asked him to, because he teased and tortured, that it was something given in exchange for getting something back. Now, as Jon wraps his lips around the head, Theon realises he's doing it just because he wants to. He wants to pleasure him like that. And that thought has him shaking and almost ready to spill while Jon has barely touched him.  


He cries out as Jon slowly takes him down, no gagging, no rushing, seeming in complete control. “Jon, Jon,” he chants fretfully, looking down to see Jon's perfect pink lips curled around his cock. He has a mouth made for this, Theon's always thought that, but he's never looked so beautiful doing it as now. He doesn't push his limits; what he can't take in his mouth, he strokes with his spare hand, but Theon feels overwhelmed anyway, doing his best not to thrust down Jon's throat.  


Jon hums contentedly as he bobs his head, and Theon can feel the seed already starting to leak from his prick, while Jon laps it up with his tongue and only seems encouraged. It would be easy to just keep rocking up into that tight heat until he comes, to leave it to Snow to get himself off after that, but when Theon feels his balls start to tighten as Jon takes him deep into his mouth, he cries out in a panic. “Wait, wait, stop!”  


“Theon?” Jon pulls back, frowning in concern. “Is everything alright?”  


Panting, Theon nods frantically, but then he blurts out: “I don't want to come in your mouth.” Jon raises an eyebrow. “I-I want you to fuck me first.”  


There's a pause. _When the hell did that happen?_ Theon wonders. He doesn't know what Snow did to him that pushed him from afraid of being fucked to eager for it, but he is, he realises, with his widespread legs and aching cock, he's practically ready to beg. As Jon slowly grins at him, the fear returns though – he wonders if all this, the kindness, the gentleness, has just been a trick. Maybe Jon only wanted to make him relax enough to admit it, and is now going to be as cruel and as mocking about it as Theon could ever be.  


But as the bastard makes his way back up Theon's body, he pecks him gently on the lips once more. “Well then,” he says.  


Theon bites his lip and Jon reaches over for the oil, thoroughly coating two fingers and kissing Theon's neck as he reaches down between his legs. With his other hand, he lightly tweaks Theon's nipple once more, making Theon gasp shallowly. Jon chuckles a little against his skin, and the tremor goes right through him. As Jon's fingers trace behind his sack, Theon can feel his heart pound against his chest, but he lets Jon do it, canting his hips up slightly so Jon can get better access to his hole, still clenched tight. Jon traces it with his oil-slick fingers a couple of times, and then frowns. “Hang on,” he says.  


Suddenly he's gone, and Theon almost whines in protest but before he knows it, there's a pillow pushed beneath his hips, and Jon is back in position, better able to reach now. Oh. Alright then. Jon returns his fingers to where they were before, and Theon's thighs spasm is his hole clenches against the threat of invasion. “You're tight, Theon,” Jon tells him, which makes him blush again. He supposes it's a compliment, but it reminds him that he is, after all, the maid here, the one who has no idea what he's agreeing to, and Jon's the one who actually knows what it feels like. “You need to relax.”  


_Oh, and how am I meant to do that then?_ he could ask, but before he can Jon is kissing him again, fingers still making those little circles, and Theon moans into his mouth, his cock twitching a little as Jon presses harder against his hole, a strange pleasure bursting forth from the motion. When Jon finally slips just the very tip of one finger inside him, he gasps, again, but he doesn't break away.  


Jon does though, looking down in concern as he drives his finger further in. “Does that hurt?” he asks, and Theon shakes his head. It feels odd, and he winces as Jon pushes through the ring of muscles, but it's not terribly painful after that. Hesitantly, he rocks his hips a little, the intrusion seeming more natural the more he flexes his arse around it. Jon sighs. “You're doing well, Theon,” he whispers, his free hand taking hold of Theon's cock once more. “So well.”  


Theon moans, uncertain what it is that makes him do it, the pressure on his cock, or in his arse, or the words Jon whispers in his ear. It's not really a skill, getting fucked in the arse, but Jon talking to him like that makes his prick twitch and leak once more. Slowly, Jon buries his finger knuckle-deep, still staring at Theon's face for any hint of pain. But the very opposite happens; the more Jon pushes into him the better it starts to feel, until Theon has to close his eyes and bite his lip at the pleasure.  


Then, Jon _curls_ his finger, and some spark goes straight through Theon until he cries out and his cock twitches painfully against his belly. “Fuck,” he gasps with his eyes snapping open, and Jon smiles as he touches that spot again, making Theon moan. “What – what is–”  


“Feels good, doesn't it?” Jon asks him, and Theon can only whimper and nod. Jon leans down and kisses him again, and Theon moans into his mouth as that finger presses against that place harder and faster until he's shaking and whimpering. “Relax. Enjoy it.” And Theon can hardly do anything else.  


He throws his head back and closes his eyes once more, offering himself up to Jon's seeming expertise, the finger in his arse and hand on his cock almost enough to make him come, but not quite. He moans and writhes and curses as Jon prepares him, and when a second finger pushes against his hole, he couldn't think to protest if he wanted to.  


“ _Shit_ ,” he hisses as that second finger starts to spread his arse. It hurts more than the first, which is only logical, he supposes. His hole clenches tight again, and Jon frowns.  


“Theon? Do you need me to stop?”  


He shakes his head. Somehow he knows, despite the pain, it will feel good – it will feel better – once he has two fingers in there stretching him for Jon's cock. “Just – just give me a second,” he says, and slowly, possibly through sheer force of will, his hole relaxes enough for Jon's second finger to fit. “Ah, ah, now. Put it in. Please Jon...”  


And Jon does, fast enough that Theon doesn't have time to be embarrassed when he realises he's begging. “Ah!” he cries out as his arse splits open for it, his head thumping against the furs. It does hurt, he can't deny it, but somehow, the pain has his cock throbbing even harder, and his arse even more eager for Jon's fingers. He squirms. “Deeper than that, Snow, come on.”  


Jon rolls his eyes, but he does do it, burying his fingers down to the knuckle. “Drowned god,” Theon whispers as Jon finds that same spot from before with two fingers, and when he starts to stroke and massage it, Theon mewls and thrusts back like a bitch in heat, trying to get more. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”  


The hand around his cock pauses in its gentle stroking, Jon perhaps realising if he keeps that up, Theon might come before he's ready for the main event. Theon whines in protest, but the bastard has a point. “You're so good Theon,” Jon whispers before kissing him again, messy and distracting. Theon just keeps moaning against his lips as those fingers curl and crook inside him, any hint of shame or fear long since chased from his mind. Jon moans in return, his prick rubbing against Theon's thigh.  


When he adds a third finger to Theon's stretched entrance, Theon cries out in pain, but he's not sure what it is, the pleasure or the sheer overwhelmingness of it all, that means he can't let Jon hesitate a moment. He throws his arm around the bastard's neck and moans: “yes, yes, more, please.”  


And Jon obeys; his third finger slips into Theon's hole, even if he has to push a few times to make it fit, and Theon can't even tell if it's pleasure or pain he cries out in at the stretch. “Yes, yes,” he gasps, and then those three fingers are pushing deep inside him again, and gods, he could do this forever.  


Throughout, Jon is pressing soft kisses to his neck, and then moves down to suck one of his nipples again, making Theon cry out louder. “Good,” Jon murmurs, almost lost for words. “So good, Theon.”  


And Theon bites his lip. “Fuck me,” he whispers.  


Jon pauses. “You sure?” he asks, looking up and meeting Theon's eye.  


And with Jon's fingers still inside him, Theon's wits start to return, and he almost thinks better of this whole thing. But still, he nods, and Jon sigh before pulling his fingers out and wiping them clean on the furs. Theon finds himself whimpering in disappointment.  


Jon reaches for the oil once more, nightshirt around his waist, thoroughly slicking the length of his cock with it. Theon's pulse races as he watches Jon's hand curled around his prick. _He's not that big,_ he tells himself, but it's only so reassuring.  


Then he receives another kiss as Jon slots into position, and as he feels the head of Jon's cock pressed against his hole, Theon's not sure if it's fear or excitement that makes him squirm. Jon pulls back. “Are you sure you want this?” he asks.

And through his nerves, Theon grins. “What, are you calling me a liar Snow?”

Jon just sighs, and thrusts just the tiniest bit of his length inside. “Ah!” Theon cries out as it stretches him again. It hurts, more than the fingers did. Jon's cock isn't that big, it's decidedly average-sized, but it feels so much thicker than it should, and it's enough to make Theon feel almost guilty for not having been more careful when he's done this to other people. Especially Jon.  


“It's alright Theon,” Jon says and he kisses him once more, not daring to push any further. “It'll feel good, I promise you. You just have to relax.”  


And the think is, despite the pain, Theon believes him. He thinks it will feel good, as soon as his hole adjusts. Jon must have let him take him this way so many times for a reason, right? And so he kisses Jon back, moaning as his hole loosens around the intrusion.  


Once he's relaxed some, Jon pulls back again, biting his lip. “Can I go deeper now?” he asks, out of breath, and Theon realises how it must feel for him, just the very tip of his cock engulfed by Theon's hole, and the rest of him left cold. He nods.  


Slowly, Jon's cock slides into him, and Theon cries out and digs his nails into Jon's shoulders at the pain and the stretch. “You're so good Theon, so good,” Jon mutters against his neck and kisses it once more, and Theon whimpers as that prick pushes halfway in, and the pain starts to fade away with Jon's words, and he starts to crave more of that length splittting him open. He moans and thrusts up towards it, and Jon makes a noise of surprise, but he complies, pushing in until he's buried almost balls-deep inside Theon's arse.

Theon moans as he feels a cock pressed against that spot inside him, that one that felt so good with Jon's fingers touching it, and maybe it'll feel even better when the bastard is fucking him with his prick instead. His eyes shut again, and unthinkingly, he reaches down and strokes his cock a second. “Does that feel good?” Jon asks above him.

He groans. “What do you think, Snow?” And he thinks he sees Jon's irritated look before he even opens his eyes. “...Yes, it feels good,” he admits shyly.  


Jon smiles at him. “Good boy,” he says and kisses him again before oh so shallowly rocking into his hole. It can't be called a thrust really, more a test, seeing how much Theon is ready to take. Jon's cock pushes harder against that sweet spot and Theon cries out again, seed spurting a little from his cock and onto his belly and hand. “Oh, oh, oh,” he moans until Jon kisses the words out of his mouth, which is for the best, they don't want the whole castle hearing them.  


“That's it, Theon,” Jon whispers as his thrusts grow braver, starting to fuck his arse properly. “You look so beautiful like this, you know? So pretty when you take my cock.”  


Theon whimpers and digs his nails into Jon's shoulder again. He should be embarrassed, but–  


“Harder, please,” he moans as Jon's balls start to smack against his arse, and while Jon is still being careful, he does quicken his pace, making Theon cry out. “Ah, ah, yes, so good, your cock, more, love your cock in me so much Jon, gods.”  


If he was thinking straight, he would be mortified. He would be ashamed that a little kissing and fondling, and a cock shoved in his arse were all it took to turn him into such a willing, eager slut. But he isn't thinking straight, and at the moment, he can't think that anything that gets more of that cock inside him could possibly be bad.  


As Jon starts to fuck him properly, he knocks Theon's hand away from his prick, wrapping his own around it instead and making Theon moan louder as Jon tosses him off. “Fuck,” Jon whispers, clearly starting to lose control himself. “You feel good, Theon? Tell me you feel good.”  


“I feel so, so good, oh gods,” Theon answers automatically.  


Jon groans. “You feel good to me too; so tight around my cock, fuck. I've wanted to do this so long, you know.” And Theon spreads his legs wider at that thought, eager to be wanted, and to be had. “You're going to come from this, aren't you? You're going to come from my fucking your arse?”  


His thumb presses over the slit of Theon's cock and Theon _does_ ; way quicker than Jon probably expected. His orgasm overtakes him within seconds, and he moans as he futilely tries to hold it back, before it bursts out of him in a rush of seed splattering across his belly. “Fuck,” Jon whispers in amazement and Theon whimpers, trembling as wave after wave of pleasure hits him, Jon's cock still pushing into his arse wringing it out of him. “Love,” Jon whispers and pushes their mouths together once more, thrusting three more times before he buries himself and groans, releasing his seed deep in Theon's hole, and that sends one more tremor through Theon's body. He feels almost _claimed_ , and bizarrely, it's not a bad feeling.  


After a few moment's gasping and panting, Snow pulls out, collapsing on the bed next to Theon as they recover. Eventually, Theon is the first to turn to him, and talk. “So what was all that about?” he asks, and Jon looks confused. “All the kissing and cuddling and stuff. Was that necessary?”  


The bastard frowns at him, back to his usual stubborn self. “What, did you expect me to fuck you as roughly as you always did me?”  


“...Well. Yeah.” He assumed that was why Snow came up with this whole scheme; to get his own back, and being treated so gently as thrown him for a loop. What did he ever do to earn such kindness?”

“I didn't feel like it,” Snow mutters, averting his eyes, which sounds... sort of true, but not completely. Like he left crucial information out. It makes Theon think of what the bastard said just before he came, the one word, one concept he's never thought of in regard to this thing before. It's not as if _he's_ never said thinks he didn't mean in the middle of fucking. But still, now the concept has been introduced, he can't stop thinking about it.

“Jon,” he asks. “All that stuff you said. About me being beautiful and all. Did you... mean that?”  


A pause. Jon winces, but eventually, he looks up and bravely meets Theon's eye, even as he blushes red as a pepper. “That depends,” he says. “Did you want me to?”  


Theon hesitates. He knows what the answer ought to be. Of course he doesn't. If he did, it raises to many questions, questions he can't afford to answer. It's not like whatever he and Snow are doing means anything. It can't mean anything. If he survives his stay with the Starks, he'll be sent back home some day, to marry a proper Ironborn woman and forget all about the bastard. And Snow will probably be off to the Wall sooner rather than later, to forsake all such pleasures. If anyone knew what they're doing, it would be a scandal to rock the whole North, and if Theon's family knew he'd let a man, a Stark, a Stark bastard fuck him up the arse, they would never forgive him. There are all sorts of reasons this can't mean anything, and if it doesn't mean anything, why would he want Jon to tell him he's beautiful?  


And so of course he says: “Yes. Yes I did.”  


A pause, and then Jon grins at him, so wide it's like he can't even stop. “Well then,” he says, and Theon chuckles, a little awkward. Some words he's still not ready to say, but he finds himself leaning over to curl against Jon's side. The touch seems more honest anyway.  


Jon pushes himself up, leaning against the headboard, while Theon rests his cheek on Jon's thigh. Gently, Jon pushes his fingers through Theon's hair. “I should warn you though,” Jon murmurs. “I was being careful, since I knew you hadn't done it before. Next time, I might push a little harder.”  


A pause, and then Theon looks up at him, grinning. “I can take anything you dish out, Snow.”  


That earns him a raised eyebrow. “I thought you would have learned better than to take on challenges you're not ready for.”


End file.
